


Half True and All Stupid

by royal_chandler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crack, Gen, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Pure Crack, Ridiculous, Superfamily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:11:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: What it says on the tin.Tony bought Peter Netflix, and oh god why.





	Half True and All Stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [FestiveFerret](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret) for being a treasure and actually reading this hotmess. And thank you for letting me know that we DO NOT call The Great British Bake Off, The Great British Baking Show no matter what Netflix says.
> 
> This [tumblr post](http://deadpooli.tumblr.com/post/176320057705/insp-x-x) inspired me to try my ~~bad~~ hand at crack.

Peter is assisting his dad with repairs on the armor when his phone chimes. To free up a hand, the other tangled up in copper wiring, he places his screwdriver between his teeth. He swipes open a message from Ned to reveal a screenshot of a tumblr post of his dad standing on an overturned apple box, victoriously holding the Netflix logo out of Mickey Mouse’s reach. The text underneath, in spectacular hand-me-the-bleach cringe, reads:

**Ned (2:14pm):  
is this big dick energy??**

“Oh my god,” Peter says and spazzes the screwdriver right back out. 

His phone chimes again.

**MJ (2:14pm):  
Yes. One who has bagged Captain America doesn’t exist on anything BUT big dick energy lmao.**

Mortified, Peter whimpers. 

Flicking off his soldering iron and shoving up his safety glasses, Dad asks, “Everything okay, Peter?”

“You,” Peter accuses with venom.

“That is the distinct cadence of teenage disownment. What’s this, your second infraction in two weeks?” Cap observes from his position on the couch, hunched over and sorting through mission reports that are more than likely past due. Peter spies leaflets of sudoku. 

“Oh, like you didn’t get one just yesterday. And I’ll have you know, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Dad protests, throwing up his arms. 

Cap snorts. 

“Okay, by default, I’m like 96% positive—give or take—that I don’t deserve this attack.”

To show otherwise, Peter sticks out the phone with an emphasis that wouldn’t be misplaced in a courtroom drama. To be fair, this situation doesn’t permit much dignity.

“Ooh, am I trending?” Dad asks, priorities evidentially in chaos. 

“You just acquired the most popular streaming service in the world and, by some miracle, the Cheeto-in-Chief hasn’t tweeted today. Of course, you’re trending,” Peter says. 

He unwinds the copper around his other hand and types—fine, he stabs—out a reply in the **This Trio Wants A Burrito** chat. 

**Peter (2:20pm):  
My dads and BDE don’t belong in the same universe. Much less the same sentence. Can we cancel this discourse?**

**Ned (2:22pm):  
um, you wouldn’t exist without that big dick energy so…**

**MJ (2:23pm):  
tbf, BDE can stand for Big Dick Energy *and* Big Dad Energy.**

Wishing there was a convenient window he could web himself out of, Peter concedes. 

**Peter (2:23pm):  
Half true and all stupid.**

“You’re upset,” Dad notes, hands akimbo and eyes squinting. “Why are you upset?”

“Well, yeah, Dad, I’m upset. You bought Netflix!”

“ _Peter_ , you asked me to buy Netflix!”

“Whoa. What? What?” Peter asks, each one rising in decibels because that’s just wild and categorically false. “No, I didn’t. I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that.”

“Apparently not because, uh, yeah, ya did ask, junior,” Dad starts, because while Peter is courtroom drama, Dad fluctuates between flicks from the nineties and Michael Schur sitcoms. “Last week, after you got back from that party with Ned, you said ‘Dad, can I get Netflix?’ and I said ‘Sure, kid, give me a few days and—“

“—it's all yours,’” Peter finishes in a long groan, raking his fingers down his face in abject misery.

“I mean, not for another ten years if we’re being _technical_ ,” Dad says, rolling his eyes and tilting his hand this way and that because _whatever ~legalese_. “But yes, I got you Netflix. You’re welcome. Sadly, however, this does forgo your birthday present because Netflix wasn’t exactly cheap.”

Cap barks out a laugh, enjoying this way too much and nowhere near suitably horrified. “I married a lunatic,” he says and seems gleeful about it. 

“How is this my life?” Peter cries to the ceiling, feeling halfway to asylum, and again it doesn’t answer back. Not even a witty remark from JARVIS. 

“How are you not used to this after fifteen years?” Cap wonders, still unhelpful and avoiding his paperwork by any means. 

Peter glowers at him and is _cooed_ at. 

“Oh, you’re so cute,” Cap says, like Peter’s two again, diaper thrown to the wind and getting handpaint prints all over himself and DUM-E’s charging station. Yes, the picture exists and still makes rounds at family holidays. 

“This is serious, Cap,” Peter broods, appropriately appalled. 

“Oh no, of course, son,” he says. He also does little to disguise his cackling. 

Peter continues glowering until Cap ducks his head down in something resembling shame, stroking his beard and humming at sudoku boxes. 

So obviously, that side of the room is hopeless. Peter turns back to Dad. 

“I meant a Netflix account. A profile, Dad,” Peter explains, never thinking he’d actually have to do so. “Like an eight-dollar investment? Not however many billions Netflix is worth and proceeding to break the New York Stock Exchange and social media.”

“Everyone your age has a Netflix account. You don’t have a Netflix account? Are you okay? Should I be worried?” Dad pauses, bringing up a finger. “Wait a second. How have you been binging _The Great British Bake Off_ this entire time then? You know your father has Feelings™ about online piracy. It unsettles his scruples.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Yeah. That lecture on integrity, viruses, and dastardly porn ads had finally faded after being burned into my brain. Thanks for bringing it back, though.” He shrugs. “I’ve been bumming off of Ned’s, Dad. I’d like my own though, one that’s personalized to my own tastes, you know?”

Eyebrows hiked in bewilderment, Dad asks, “Why didn’t you just say that? Communication is key, Peter.”

Peter sighs deeply and silently prays for someone to build a fence. 

“Hmm. Huh. Alright. I’m saying it now,” Peter states calmly even though his jaw pulses with indignation. MJ calls it _keeping the frog at bay_ , which is ridiculous. “Dad, can you cancel whatever deal you brokered, and can I please get a normal Netflix account? It shouldn’t be any more than eleven dollars. Gandalf gatekeeps anymore than that. Please, because I really don’t want to inherit Netflix.” 

With a nod and settling his glasses back in place, Dad says, “I’ll make a call.”

“Awesome,” Peter mutters as another text comes through. 

**MJ (2:36pm):  
I’m having a moral dilemma, tho. I’m torn between my outrage at the monopolizing of media outlets and my appreciation of your dad’s BDE.**

“Ugh,” and Peter’s mostly made up of groans at this point. 

“What’s the matter now?” Dad asks.

“Nothing. Everything’s good,” Peter says, typing furiously. 

“Are you sure? If someone’s bothering you—” Leaning over his shoulder, Dad peers at the screen and frowns deeply. “I have BDE? What’s BDE?”

Peter’s soul writhes in panic. 

“Er. I--I don’t know,” Peter stammers, quickly closing the chat. He rubs at his neck and backs away. “No idea.”

Cap chooses then to get up from the couch and with such authority, he’s missing nothing but his shield. The stormy expression on his face doesn’t bode well. “Who said you have BDE?”

“MJ, I think,” Dad answers, still confused. “Why? Do you know what it is? How do you know and I don’t know?”

Timing at a critical point and spidey-sense blaring, Peter heads for the stairs to the sounds of _internet safety_ and _calling her mother._

Just before his soul shrivels up and collapses in on itself, Peter sends out: 

**Peter (2:38pm):  
Run and save yourself.**

**fin**


End file.
